Author: Pat Shiplett

The arborist knew everything there was to know about the care and feeding of mature hardwoods and the people, his residential customers, who owned them.

When he looked at the job at hand, he speculated the 1926-vintage home, a center-entrance colonial, had been built carelessly close to the huge pin oak that stood on land that had been a dairy farm before it was sold for development. The tree could have been planted after construction, but probably not.

Somewhere along the way a thousand cubic feet of concrete was poured as a porch burying half of the oak’s root system. The tree took its revenge by splitting the slab of concrete down the middle.

Its siblings monopolized the sunlight from the south so the oak listed to the north, against the house. It raised a haunting, gnawing sound during windstorms. The upper branches towered over the span of the house’s roof. An attached garage to the east had recently been destroyed by limbs from a lesser tree. The pin oak was in the wrong place. It could be dangerous. As much the homeowner tried to tell himself otherwise, he came to think of that oak as an intruder.

Reviewing the estimate for removal, he asked the arborist to explain the “Courtesy Option.” I can’t tell you what it is, you have to trust me, the arborist said. He added that customers who choose it are ecstatic that they did.

Weeks later the man returned home as the crew was sweeping up the chips. The arborist met him on the lawn. “I forgot to tell you. Your tree looked healthy on the outside but inside…rotten to the core. It wouldn’t have survived more than another year or two.” The homeowner was ecstatic.

 

Friends gathered in a suburban bistro to celebrate one more in the relentless march of unavoidable birthdays.

They were old friends and conversation among them would come easily.

But to be on the safe side the hostess, the birthday girl, handed out breezy conversation starters.

“If you had your choice,” one of the prompts asked, “what time in the past or the future would you choose to live?”

One guest opted for the Gilded Age and the layers of clothes that came with it. Another mentioned WW II. The Fifties in America and the Twenties in Paris got multiple votes each.

But when one guest suggested visiting a future five hundred years from now, the group shuddered at the thought.

It’s surprising that people who came of age in the most prosperous of times and in the most stable nation the world has seen would look to the future with dread.

Even though many of the guests will be here well into their 90s, and still have their teeth, not one of them suggested that the next tipping point would tip in our favor.

The group sang happy birthday to their beloved hostess as the desert was brought out, and proceeded to devour the killer molten-chocolate lava cake she had selected as if there were no tomorrow.

We met at a restaurant to celebrate one of those big-O birthdays.

We are old friends and conversation is always easy. But to be on the safe side our hostess wrote breezy conversation starters.

“If you had your choice,” one question asked, “what time in the past or the future would you choose to live?”

One guest opted for the Gilded Age. Another mentioned WW II. The Fifties in America and the Twenties in Paris got one vote each. But when someone suggested visiting the future five hundred years from now, the group shuddered.

It’s surprising that people who have benefited so much from the past 500 years of progress would fear the future. We’ll live to see our 90s and still have our teeth. Isn’t it possible that, if we keep our minds open and our fingers crossed, the next tipping point could tip in our favor?

We sang to the happy birthday girl as the desert was brought out. We proceeded to devour that molten-chocolate cake like there was no tomorrow.

I am in receipt of your excellent direct-mail solicitation. Thank you. I especially like mailings that are unsolicited, as they show initiative. I always try to read and respond to limited-time offers promptly, lest they expire.

I am however a little confused by your offer of “Free Pre-Paid Cremation.” I’m a little slow on the uptake, if you will, but then that’s to be expected from a demographic slated for incineration.

It’s the “Free” and “Pre-Paid” part that has me stumped. If it’s free why would it need to be paid? And pre-paid? What’s that about? I’ll sign a blank check and leave it in the bottom drawer where the kids are sure to find when the time comes. Are we good?

Please, Neptune Society, tell me this is not like the time a sales manager named Rex When-Opportunity-Knocks-Some-People-Complain-About-The-Noise Johnson drove four of us up to Sydney, Ohio to give FREE! Grolier World Book Encyclopedias to deserving low-income families. $435 in handling charges was all we asked. A childless couple wondered how old I was and gave me lemonade and said I’m not very good at giving things away.

But let’s get back to your revolutionary cremation system. It’s quick and painless — do I have right? Testimonials?

By the way, I hope your marketing team is not under unrealistic pressure to meet quotas this quarter. My blood pressure is good and my cholesterol is under control. Have you heard of kale?